Pearls and Pistol Whipped - Chapter 1
by Hannaho92
Summary: It's funny; the strangest things find you when you're hiding. Ella just wanted a quite coffee in her favourite cafe. But after meeting Sherlock Holmes, the famous detective she's never even heard of, she gets plenty more than she bargained for.
1. Chapter 1

Ella sat in café somewhere in the middle of Camden Town, sipping a Chai Latte and reading a book. As far as she was aware, it was any normal day. Dull. Grey. Raining that kind of rain that didn't feel heavy but soaked your clothes right through. It was the perfect day to hide in a café. The café was relatively empty, the rain forcing many to hurry home, so Ella sat peacefully enough enjoying her Tolkien.

The peace was broken when she overheard two men stood next to her table. Ella looked up from her book. One was very tall, with an overcoat and curly hair, and the other was shorter, visibly more worn but not necessarily older, and slightly blond-ish.

'Hi, I'm really sorry but my friend here suffers from OCD. We always sit at this table, would you mind moving?' said the tall one, putting on a friendly face.

Ella looked at them both and smirked.

'I'm not moving.'

The tall one looked a little shocked, whilst the shorter one tried to smother his grin.

'But his…'

'OCD? It doesn't exist. His shoelaces don't match.'

The two of them looked at the shorter man's feet. Where one of his shoes was cross looped, the other sawtooth tied.

'But you're more than welcome to join me; the booth is plenty big enough.'

Ella went back to her book as the two gentlemen sat down at the desk. The tall one made a show of looking at his menu, whilst the shorter one continued to look at Ella. She waited for him to ask her why she'd be looking at his shoe laces, or call her freak or something. But he didn't.

Eventually, a waitress came over to take their order.

Ella instinctively spoke up for them.

'They'll have a full English and a bacon and brie sandwich. Thanks.'

The waitress smiled and walked away again, leaving the three of them in silence. Both men were staring at her now.

'What made you order that?' said the tall man.

'Because you've obviously dragged your friend out of bed and he'll want something filling, whereas you're too busy checking every face in here to actually eat whatever is put in front of you. Sandwiches are the only things this place packs to take away.'

Ella closed her book, and looked at each of the gentlemen sat at her booth.

'Why did you choose to sit here?' the tall man asked.

'The same reason you wanted to sit here. There are two exits to this place, the front entrance and the one by the toilets. This booth allows you visibility and access to both.'

He smiled, looking almost impressed.

'I don't know what you're smiling at. You look a lot less special now,' replied the shorter man to his friend, smiling widely.

The waitress returned with the men's food.

'Can I get a tea too please?' said the shorter man.

'Sure,' she smiled sweetly.

'Who are you looking for?' Ella asked.

'A Russian gun seller, you?' the tall man replied.

Ella laughed. 'I'm not looking for anyone.'

'No I meant who are you hiding from?'

'No one.'

'But you knew about the exits?' added the shorter man through mouthfuls. The waitress gave him his tea, which he added a small amount of milk to.

'I'm not hiding from anyone specifically. It's just habit now.'

'Habit?'

'Yeah. My dad was a bit of a paranoid freak, and I guess part of it rubbed off on me.'

The shorter man nodded as he continued to eat.

The taller man seemed to lose interest in Ella and continued to scan the café, whilst his friend ate. Ella opened her book again, assuming the conversation had come to an end.

'My name's John by the way. John Watson,' the shorter man said taking another swig of this tea, 'and this breakfast is just what I needed. Thank you.'

'Ella. You're welcome.'

The tall man said nothing but continued to scan the café and the street outside through the large front window.

'My friend here is Sherlock Holmes.'

'Are you police officers?'

Sherlock scoffed.

'No. I'm a doctor, and Sherlock is consultant detective.'

'Hence the Russian gun seller,' Ella said hiding behind her chai latte.

'Yes. I'm hoping he can prove that it is possible to shoot someone through three floors,' Sherlock said, still not looking at Ella.

'Excellent. Well, good luck with that.'

'So what do you do, Ella?' John continued. He'd taken his coat off now and had a knit jumper on. Everything about him seemed calm and friendly, but the way he sat up straight, eyed the room regularly and kept his phone and butter knife close to hand made him look tense.

'She doesn't. She's a perpetual student,' said Sherlock.

Ella smirked.

'What gave it away? Ink stains? My books?'

'The fact you've spent a whole day in a café on a Thursday which is statistically the busiest day of the week,' Sherlock pointed at the latte mug, and the napkins for the three before that.

Ella laughed again.

A bulky looking man came in to the café at that moment, and Sherlock became motionless, as if worried a single movement might spook him. The bulky man spoke some Russian Ella didn't understand to one of the waitresses, who ushered him past the toilets to the other exit.

As soon as the door as closed, Sherlock leapt from his seat, grabbing his coat and was gone. John shuffled around the table to follow him. He chucked a twenty onto the table.

'Thank you, it's been… erm… nice,' and he was off out the back door too.

Ella just shook her head. So bizarre. She packed her things and finished her drink. Stealing half of Sherlock's sandwich, she made it out into the rain.

It's amazing how, even when it's thick with rain, London doesn't stop or slow down. Ella fought through the throng of people to get to the bus stop and got her oyster card out. She'd got it free, and it was a hideously vibrant orange, but she liked it. It made it easy to spot in her bag.

A couple of black cars drove down the bus lane, not uncommon for rush hour, but Ella stepped away from the curb instinctively. She bumped into a large man behind her. He jabbed a needle into her hip, keeping her close so no one could see.

'Ow, what was tha…'

Ella's vision went blurry. Her limbs felt heavy. She was falling.

She was caught up by the man who'd drugged her and shoved into a black car that had pulled up at the bus stop and driven away.


	2. Chapter 2

Zolpidem. It's a sedative, also called a hypnotic; and it made Ella sick. The brie and bacon sarni came out as a beige lump and warmed itself in her lap.

Her captors asked her questions, she wasn't sure if she'd answered. And then she was out.

First she heard dripping, then she smelt damp. Why couldn't kidnappers take her somewhere nice for a change? A lavish hotel? Even a B&amp;B? No. It had to be a grotty building somewhere. Not that Ella had ever been abducted before; it was just tremendously cliché.

She let her other sense kick in before she dared open her eyes.

She could smell…petrol… past the damp. Exhaust fumes. Body odour. Antiseptic. She could hear busy streets outside, but she wasn't in Camden anymore. Not the Camden she knew. It wasn't the same kind of busy she could hear outside. There was something hushed about it, like it was far away. Something kept her mouth shut. She couldn't scream yet.

Her hands were bound, but not together and her feet weren't bound either. Her heart beat in her chest like a timpani drum.

_Keep calm_, she told herself. _Your adrenaline is pumping. You have to keep calm._

Finally, ready to open her eyes, she peered through the sluggish silk of sleep. It was brighter than she thought it would be. Fluorescent. Green. Emergency lights.

_Abandoned building, _she realised. _Abandoned building in a populated area. Too big to be a house. Too cramped to be a warehouse. A hospital? _

There's another sound from behind Ella. A door. A double door. Three men enter.

_Armed. Handguns mostly, but the third one keeps a knife in his boot too. Physically fit. Each over six foot and at least 15st – all muscle. Not uniformed enough to be military, too uniformed to be terrorists/anarchists. Guns for hire? Hired by who? _

The first man stepped forwards and removed the bizarre gag that covered all of Ella's mouth and chin to stop her from screaming.

"Drink?"

Ella nodded. She was brought a sippy-cup of water, which was too cold and burnt her throat a little.

"Why am I here?" Ella asked, her voice croaky.

The men looked between each other and didn't answer.

_They're not the ones in charge. There must be more of them. How many more? And is the door behind me the only damned exit? _

_"_What do you want?"

Still no answer. Ella resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Patronising her captors just wasn't a very good idea.

"Can I use the bathroom at least?" Ella motioned her sick pile in her lap. She'd clearly been sick again since the car and it was all down her front.

The man who'd spoken walked out with the sippy-cup in hand, whilst the other two remained with Ella.

_They won't leave me alone now I'm awake. And they don't care that I've seen their faces. This is not good…_the negative part of Ella pointed out.

_Statistically, more victims survive being kidnapped than die. Odds are in my favour_, argued the more positive side.

The realist just looked for another exit. The windows were boarded up and two burly men were between Ella and the door behind her, let alone the ropes around her wrists. She was on the floor though, so getting untied should be easier than in a chair.

The first soldier returned with a bizarre looking man in a hideous polyester suit. His skin was a little too sallow and his nose a little too big, and sat across it was the roundest thickest glasses Ella had ever seen. They weren't even hipster anymore, they were so anti-mainstream, it was like he'd gone back in time and found the most unattractive pair of glasses he could find. Ella had never been offended by glasses before, but they were really really bad.

"Good evening Ella."

"Is it?"

He smirked.

"Fine. Formalities out of the way. Where is it?"

"Where is what?"

"Don't play dumb. You bumped into a friend of mine this afternoon. He gave you something."

"I honestly have no idea what you're talking about."

A thin vein seemed to start protruding from the weird man's face.

"Sherlock Holmes. You sat with him at that Café in Camden. He gave you something. Where is it?"

"The tall guy? Curly hair? The only thing he gave me was half a bacon and brie sandwich, which as you can see, I gave back," Ella indicated to the sick in her lap again. The vein was now practically dancing across the man's forehead.

"I will not be made a fool of. Either you have it, or you don't."

"I've already told you – he didn't give me anything. I honestly don't know what to tell you."

He paused for a moment, thinking it over.

"I believe you," he said, but the sick look on his face didn't fill Ella with comfort.

"Thank you."

"Kill her," he commanded the soldier next to her.

"No! Wait!"

The soldier pulled the handgun from it's holster and aimed it at Ella's head.

"I can help! I can be leverage! I can help you find what you're looking for!"

She squeezed her eyes shut. She was going to die, with sick on her lap and with an essay due. 

"Wait."

Eyes still shut, Ella felt a scrawny hand take her face and pull it upwards. She opened her eyes a little from shock, but didn't want to look into the black holes that were his glasses lenses.

"How will you help us find it?"

"I… I can find things. I notice things other people don't. It's a thing…not really a gift…"

"Prove it," he let go abruptly.

Ella looked at him, really looked.

"You won't like it."

He smirked again.

"Prove you're useful to me, or I'll kill you it's that simple."

Ella looked to the floor, gathered her strength and faced the sallow man again.

"Your business sales. You've well-kept hair, make up on your face and your suit is polyester. Not a bad fabric but it doesn't breathe very well so the fact it isn't covered in stains tells me it's new. You care what people think of you but Polyester lasts. If you were buried in it, it would outlast you by years. So maybe it's not a case of you can't afford a more expensive suit, but more that you don't want a more expensive suit. You like things that are proven useful. You glasses are the same. They're not prescription glasses, they're too thick, they're magnifying glasses. They distort your face so that should anyone try to describe you to a police officer, all they'd be able to describe are your glasses, not your face. It's a lot easier to change your glasses than it is your face. A face lasts. And your team say the same thing. They're all very similar. Replaceable. Military trained, but now freelance. None are married, and neither are you – though you were a ring on your wedding finger."

"How do you know I'm not married?"

"The ring doesn't fit. It's too big. That wasn't made for you. It's a memento. Either it's someone who meant a lot to you and died or…"

"It was the first man I killed."

"Salesman. Salesman with an armed force behind him – black market. Guns. Big guns. Make or break war guns."

The little man giggled to himself and clapped his hands together.

"Just like Sherlock! Although he guessed the reason behind the make-up, and it wasn't because a salesman should always look his best."

"You're dying? Cancer?"

"Oh my dear no, nothing so tragic. Hemolytic anaemia. It's a genetic thing, low red blood cells. Manageable."

Ella nodded.

"Well, I'd say you've earned another day. We'll let Sherlock know we have you and if he makes the trade…"

"If he doesn't I can still be of use to you," Ella protested.

"I don't want to lie to you, this story isn't going to end well for you. You can barter your way to an extra couple of days, a thicker blanket and the occasional newspaper – but you will die. But just think, at least your father won't ever have to be branded with the atrocious news that his daughter was kidnapped, tortured and murdered."

"Tortured?"

His grin spread like a Cheshire cat.

"Oh yes."


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock wasn't sure which was worse; waiting around to give a statement or leaving the police to screw up the investigation on their own. This endless wait to do paperwork was a waste of his time and he was pretty sure Lestrade only held him here longer as a wind up.

Watson didn't seem to mind. He sipped his tea from it's paper cup and read his newspaper. He'd stopped reading the telegraph and moved onto the guardian. Mary's doing no doubt.

Sherlock heard Lestrade's footsteps before the click of the waiting room door. To say he leapt from his chair would be an understatement. He sprang like a cat doused in water; in the same bound he made it from the chair to the waiting room door just in time to catch the door as it opened.

"Finally! Right, now as I was saying before I was man-handled into here…"

"Never mind that. You've been called out."

"What?" Watson looked up from his newspaper just in time to catch Sherlock hide his gleeful look.

"A video has been posted. It's not pretty," Lestrade continued, moving away from the waiting room and back to his office. Donovan caught up with him on the way and handed him a folder. "It's not technically our division, but apparently the lead kidnapping detective…"

"Forbson," Donovan pitched in.

"That's it, Forbson, isn't in a rush to work with you again," Lestrade mused whilst skimming through the folder.

"Again?" Sherlock look confused. "I don't remember a Forbson."

"When you met her she was Detective Finherty," Donovan chipped in again. When it didn't seem to help, Sherlock turned to Watson.

"You proved her husband ran a people smuggling operation through the Charter service he managed. Just from his tan…"

"Oh."

The video was all set up in Lestrade's office and Ella's pained face took centre stage on the screen. It was a little bruised now, and her eyebrow was cut. Plus her tshirt seemed to be stained with sick.

"That's the girl we met at lunch," Watson pointed out, surprise clear on his face. Sherlock took Lestrade's chair without asking and played the video.

"This is for Sherlock Holmes. He says… he says you are a virtuous man…second…it was the second thing he said. The first was he wants to trade. Me for the item you stole. He's given you twenty four hours, but I can't wait that long…"

Ella paused, held her neck as if it was sore and began tapping her fingers against her collar bone.

"He says keep your eye on the time and a closer look out for his next message."

The video stopped. Sherlock was already furiously texting into his phone.

"So?" Lestrade asked. "What did you take from him?"

"I haven't the foggiest," Sherlock answered, still paying more attention to his phone than Lestrade.

"I hope you're kidding…" Donovan huffed, crossing her arms to stop herself from shaking him. He ignored her.

"Sherlock!" Watson cried, but still he didn't look up from his phone.

"Gotcha!" he finally exclaimed. "Come Watson! The game is on!" and with an unnecessary flourish of his trench coat, he made for the office door.


	4. Chapter 4

"If you even think about leaving this office before you explain to me what you saw, I'll arrest you for obstruction!" Lestrade called out, as Donovan moved between Sherlock and the door like a well-trained dog.

"I don't have time for this!" Sherlock shouted.

"Make time!" Lestrade shouted back.

"This girl is clever, so clever it's made her paranoid. So the people who took her had to be prepared. Had to be watching. But when she speaks to the camera nothing is planned. So they planned to take her but not to keep her. She knows she's going to die so what does she do? She buys time."

"Wait, hold on; she didn't mention more than one person."

"Of course there's more than one person! Weren't you listening! Paranoid! Always Alert!"

"They'd have needed at least three people to take her. One to drive. One to sedate. One as a distraction. Possibly a fourth if they took her from a crowded place or took her by force," John explained.

"They didn't force her, they drugged her. She was sick and unconscious when she was sick. When we're awake we involuntarily lean forwards. No one wants to be sick on themselves. She didn't. She couldn't. But now she's awake she can tell us where she is and how many men have her there."

"The tapping on her collar bone," Watson continued, "It's not Morse code, but maybe another form of code?"

"Nothing so complicated. She counted them. Four fingers beat twice. Eight men."

"So where is she then?" Donovan spat.

"Temperance Hospital. It's abandoned currently; it's to be knocked down for the new HS2 train station," Sherlock held up his phone for proof.

"The second virtue is Temperance," Lestrade finished.

"I told you she was clever!" Sherlock made for the door again.

"Alright, I want a tactical team put together. Assume these men are armed and dangerous…" Lestrade barked at Donovan, as Sherlock and Watson left the building.

Back at the hospital Ella waited. She hoped she'd given enough away to Sherlock that he could find her, but not too much to raise suspicion. They'd had her at least four hours now. Who know how long it would take someone to notice she was missing. Her flatmates wouldn't notice for days, they barely spoke. And she had no family to speak of.

"Excellent job hiding Ella, very well done."

They had her in an office now. It was one of the few with doors that had a working lock, so Ella felt very secure. There had been some scissors in the desk but one of the kidnappers had taken them. He'd pushed Ella into a chair and left her there, locking the door and standing just outside.

After some serious chaffing, she'd freed herself from the ropes and was now desperately looking for a way out. There was no other door and the window was a no go. It wouldn't open more than a few inches, barely enough to fit her arm through. They'd taken her bag from her in the car and cleared her pockets whilst she slept.

_Awesome. Time to get creative. _

She would start by asking for a new tshirt. She'd read somewhere that if you build a rapport with your kidnapper by asking for small favours they're more likely to treat you like a person and you'll live longer. Ella hoped that having sick down her front would be reason enough for someone to help her out. She lightly knocked on the door.

"Erm… excuse me? Can I have a clean tshirt? This one really smells."

She knew she was admitting she'd freed herself, but for the moment she had nowhere to go anyway.

There was a shuffle outside and then a turn in the lock. Specs (as Ella had decided to call him) came in abruptly, purple faces and sweaty.

"Strip!" he shouted. Ella instinctively covered herself.

"No!" she cried back.

Specs gave a curt nod and the men who'd followed him began helping themselves to Ella's clothes.

"Is this because I asked for the tshirt? I'm sorry ok! Just leave me alone!" Ella cried, struggling to fight the impulse to pull back on her clothes. _Keep Calm. Behave. Survive._

"The police are on their way. But you knew that! You've been communicating with them!"

"They are?" Ella couldn't help but let a little hope slip through.

"Don't act surprised!"

"I'm not acting!"

She was just down to underwear now, and thankfully the burly men stopped.

"She's clean," one of them said.

"Do a full cavity search."

"Oh for crying out loud!" Ella burst. "The video! Okay? I told them through the video! No need to get all up in my cavities!"

Specs looked murderous. Ella felt sick again.

"We leave in five minutes. Leave nothing behind."

When Sherlock arrived on the scene, Temperance Hospital was on fire.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5.

Sherlock ignored the blue tape, sirens and fire and went straight into the derelict hospital. It was hot, and smoky and difficult to breathe.

He felt hands all over him, trying to pull him back. He tried to shove them off, but then another hand collided with his face. It stunned him long enough that the hands won and he was dragged out of the burning building.

'Are you insane?' Watson shouted, shaking Sherlock's shoulders. 'You could have been killed!'

'She's gone. They've taken her. Where?' Sherlock was mumbling, but Watson recognised his expression. He was thinking. Outside of the chaos surrounding them, outside of his own near-death experience. He was trying to put the pieces together.

'How did they know we were coming?' Watson asked, looking at the fiery death trap he'd just pulled his friend from.

Sherlock stopped and looked at him.

'What a terrific question…'

And that was the last Watson had seen of Sherlock for nearly two days. It didn't surprise him. If Sherlock got a bit wrapped up in a case he did often disappear, and it was Watson's job to worry about him. After he checked his blank phone at the dinner table for the eighth time, Mary called him on it.

'If he needed you, he'd let you know.'

'Only if he could, and only if he had the foresight to know he needed me,' John corrected her, before tucking his phone back into his pocket. Mary was no chef. Sausage, mash and beans had been the meal of the evening and they'd both been left feeling a little dejected. Mary collected up the plates without a word, before heading into the living room. John heard her put on the television, though he knew she probably wasn't going to actually watch it, and checked his phone again. He sighed, irritated by his own disappointment and went to join his wife in front of the telly.

He used to enjoy these moments of normality in between cases. A little bit of the simple life. But now…

There was a knock at the door and both Watson's looked at each other a little confused.

They answered it, John just a little in front of Mary.

'Mycroft? What are you doing here?' John said, stepping out of the way of tall man barging his way into the Watson homestead.

'Sherlock sent for me. Told me to meet you here.' The look of disdain on Mycroft's features was obvious, as though a foul stench had crept its way up his nose and then down his throat. But John didn't take any offence. Mycroft always looked like that. So bloody superior.

'Did he tell you any more than that?' Mary asked, leading the way back into the kitchen. She already had the kettle on by the time the two gents had joined her.

'No. But then you know what Sherlock's like. Always so cryptic.'

As if on cue, Sherlock walked through the front door. Mary had been kind enough to get him a key cut. It made it easier for him to deal with the fact John didn't live at 221b Baker Street anymore, because he had a room of 'stuff' at the Watson's.

'Ah. You're all here. Excellent.'

'Is there time for tea?' Mary asked him, transferring the now hot water into a pot of loose leaf tea.

'Why am I here?' Mycroft spat, having taken a seat at the dining table.

Sherlock ignored both questions and pinned a rather large map of Camden onto the kitchen wall. He then proceeded to fill the map in with odd bits of paper, photographs and other tidbits.

'What on earth is that on my wall?' John asked, sitting in another dining chair. Mary then sat next to him whilst Sherlock continued to stand.

'You question the other day John "How did they know we were coming?" was brilliant. Not only did it allow for an inquiry into the kidnappers – but also, into the possibility that whoever it was that had helped them, had helped them before. The leak was easy enough to find…'

'You've got a leak,' Sherlock barked across Lestrade's kitchen table.

'Excuse me?'

'Someone told the kidnappers we were coming. Someone on your task force is working for them.'

Lestrade scrunched his face up.

'My men have been working for me for years… not one of them would…' he paused. 'That's why you're here isn't it? You didn't want to cause a scene at the station in case you scared the leak off. You're serious…'

'Of course I'm serious. Someone helped the kidnappers with information that could potentially put a girl's life at risk. But more importantly than that she put a spanner in your investigation.'

'Try taking those priorities and switching them around…'

'Who has the potential in your task force to get information to an outside source?'

'Potentially, all of them. This isn't 1984.'

'I spent the first few hours of that day looking for the leak. The motives would be simple; money, morals or beliefs – whether political or religious.'

'Well you can rule out religious and political beliefs. The vetting process for Scotland Yard is pretty extensive,' Mycroft added, looking bored.

'Yes, brother, we all know you like to keep tabs on our precious police force.'

'That's not what I'm saying…'

'That's exactly what you're saying not stop interrupting him. It's getting to the good bit!' Mary said, handing her husband a cup of tea. Mycroft scoffed at his cup, but Sherlock picked his up, took a sip and continued on with his story.

'Lily Dubaskette.'

'Yes?' the pretty, young admin assistant answered, looking up at Sherlock with a wary smile.

'Miss Dubaskette, four people in this entire building made a phone call ten minutes before the Temperance Hospital was set on fire. Of those four people, two people made international calls. One of those four people called an adult hot-line and the fourth was you.'

Lily stood abruptly, but Lestrade was standing just the other side of her. She had nowhere to go.

'According to your file, you've worked for this task force for five years.'

'Yes.'

'And you've never once applied for a promotion or a pay rise.'

'No.'

'So you didn't do it for the money.'

'I like the work.'

'I'm not talking about the work for Scotland yard, I'm talking about the phone call.'

'We've traced the phone number you called at the time Mr Holmes mentioned,' Lestrade continued, 'you've used it before. Not often. But it's there. Once a month, every month for the last five years. The calls only last a few minutes; but then I guess they don't need to last any longer than that.'

'They found me.'

'Who did?' Sherlock asked.

'You don't know?' She looked sceptical, almost angry. 'You're looking for them and you don't even know who they are?'

'Should I?'

'Yes,' she and Lestrade said in unison.

'You were saying…' Lestrade prompted.

'They found me. I'd only just finished my apprenticeship in business administration. They said they'd pay me to apply for certain positions so long as I kept in touch and gave them information on potential…hiccups.'

'And an armed taskforce would have been exactly that. Who was your contact in this… organisation?'

'He wasn't stupid enough to give me his real name. I checked the moment I got my position here. The name he gave me was V. Hains. There's no Victor Hains. Vernon Hains or any other V. Hains registered in the system or any system. He doesn't exist.'

'Of course he doesn't exist. V. Hains is an anagram for Vanish,' Sherlock said, moving closer to Lily. She seemed smaller now he'd found her. He'd expected the leak to be smarter, not greedy and not so easily led.

'What else did he have on you? Surely you didn't follow along just because they offered to pay you?'

'I went along because I didn't think I had any other choice. They knew where I lived. They knew who I hung around with. And plenty of other stuff. I figured, if they could find that much out about me, it wouldn't be too hard for them to make me disappear.'

'Why didn't you go to the police?' Lestrade asked.

'I've seen the work done here. Like I stood a chance.'

'Are you still able to contact them?' Sherlock asked, looking over her face for any lies.

'No. The number they gave me was for a burner. Once it's used for a warning, it's discarded. I have to wait until they find me with a new one. Not that they will. I doubt I'm the only person in this office they have working for them. They'll know you've spoken to me by now. I'm the walking dead.'

'Oh don't be so dramatic…' Lestrade said, dragging Lily away.

'I still don't know what I'm doing here…' Mycroft cut in. 'If you want me to find this Vanish fellow for you, I'm going to need more information. I'm not a magician.'

'Oh will you stop interrupting!' Mary shouted at Mycroft. He could be such a petulant child when he wanted to be.

Sherlock opened his mouth to continue, but there was a knock at the door.


	6. Chapter 6

In all seriousness - I am so sorry it has taken me so long to catch up with this, but I was 100% certain I'd written myself into a corner and had paid work I needed to do before I could worry about it. This is totally back on track now! And I promise the next chapter will be with you in the next week or so!

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter 6 **

There was a second light knocking at the door. Everyone looked to Sherlock, who looked only at the door, and then returned their gaze down the long hall to the door.

'Is the latch on?' Mary asked.

John shrugged.

'Oh for heaven's sake…' Mycroft scoffed, before heading towards the door. Sherlock, not allowing for this thunder to be stolen, shot ahead of his brother and opened the door.

Ella stood there in a blood covered tracksuit, hair matted and damp and mud smothering her face.

'But…how?' John spluttered, looking the poor girl up and down.

'Well… it would appear the girl has completed your task for you,' Mycroft smirked.

'Quite,' Sherlock agreed, though he looked far from irritated. 'I am very pleased to see you again.'

He held his arm out to Ella, who clung to it in a rather old fashioned way as they both entered the kitchen again.

'I hope you were able to find the house alright,' Sherlock said, ushering her into a chair as Mary handed her a cup of tea. Ella nodded as she wrapped her hands around her mug for warmth. The rest of the adults crowded around her expectantly.

'Found the… how did she know to come here?' John continued, feeling ignored.

'Don't talk about her like she's not here! Can I get you anything Ella?' Mary asked with a sympathetic smile.

'Is a bath totally out of the question?'

'Of course not, sweetie. Follow me.'

Mary led Ella out of the kitchen and upstairs. Mycroft stood whilst they waited for Ella to be out of ear shot.

'If you wanted me to hide her, you should have texted. I can put her in a witness protection pro…'

'Don't be so incredibly small minded Mycroft. She would be wasted in witness protection. Give her a job. Just think what she could accomplish with a little training. Remarkable.'

John started at Sherlock.

'What?' Sherlock stared back.

'I've never heard you call anyone remarkable. Ever. Not even me.'

'Don't be needy Darling;' Mary called as she hurried in, 'she'll be okay. The blood wasn't hers.'

'The clothes…' Sherlock started; but before he could finish, Mary thrust a plastic bag with Ella's tracksuit at him. 'Thank you.'

'How did she escape? How did she know to come here?' John asked again.

'I gave her your address,' Sherlock replied blandly.

'Of course you did,' John threw his arms up, exasperated.

'So, after you tried calling V. Hains…' Mary prompted.

'Right,' Sherlock continued. 'For now, V. Hains is just a name. Lestrade has put a search through all police, fire and health department HR databases to flush out any other associated of V. Hains. He also got hold of the CCTV footage from the street Ella was abducted from. He got the plate but it was forged. I couldn't wait around for him to follow that lead, I had a girl to find…'

Sherlock returned to the café that he and Ella's paths had first crossed and sat in their booth. The café was surrounded by studio flats, so it was possible that Ella lived in one of them if she was a frequent visitor to this frankly mediocre café.

With Birbeck University, The University College of London and Sotheby's Institute of Art Academy within the same block, there was a potential that she lived further away and happened to be a student at one of these. He text Lestrade a request for each university's roster. Still, there was a chance that Ella was an Open University student, thus could live anywhere. Sherlock was not surprised to find Ella always paid in cash but it was frustrating. Each question seemed to give him a dead end.

It didn't take Sherlock long to work out which flat had been broken into and used as a spotters perch; but who'd ever broken in hadn't left much of a trace except for the broken lock and a few fibres in the window where they'd leaned against it. Sherlock collected them anyway, obviously. The front of the café was almost directly in front of the window. Nothing was obscured. Not even the bus stop slightly down the road.

Sherlock had noted that Ella was waiting for a bus when she'd been abducted. Amongst a crowd, no one had noticed her, except the men who'd man-handled her into the car.

But what about any other day? What bus would she have gotten then?

Sherlock returned to 221b Baker Street and opened his laptop. There were roughly 422,000 CCTV cameras in London, give or take a few hundred that were broken or not registered. Thankfully, Sherlock's lack of hacking prowess was negated by the fact he had a few white hat contacts. He spread the word of a girl being abducted in the right forums, and waited.

He got a response on the same day.

Ella frequented the 29 bus which stopped just a little short her favourite café. The hackers then followed Ella all the way to Mattinson road, North London. She disappeared down Warwick Gardens which didn't appear to have any CCTV cameras in use and would exit from there the morning she was abducted. It was safe to say she lived down there and Sherlock was confident he could find her house once he'd got there.

Student houses are relatively easy to spot. This one was no different. A 'To Rent' sign outside that had clearly been posted for over a year. Over grown bushes and shrubbery. Sheets hanging up in the windows rather than curtains.

Sherlock knocked on the door to some bleary eyed boy who answered the door in his pants.

'Police,' Sherlock flashed Lestrade's warrant card and strode straight in. The boy looked panicked, pale and suddenly very aware of his nudity. He crossed and uncrossed his arms defensively before spluttering out,

'You can't do this. You can't come in without a warrant.'

As Sherlock moved through the narrow corridor, the boy stood fixed in front of a door which should have been a living room; but from the smell of beer, sick, weed and teenage desperation, it was far more likely to be his bedroom/hot box.

'I'm looking for Ella's bedroom.'

'Oh. Top of the stairs on the right,' the boy answered visibly relaxing. 'Is she alright?'

'No. She's been abducted.'

Sherlock made his way up the stairs and found Ella's door easily enough. The door was a heavier wood than its counterparts, and the lock was a Baldwin Squared Deadbolt 8255. Getting in would certainly be tricky. He fetched from his pocket a small pick set and placed his torsion wrench and half diamond pick through the small key hole.

'OW!' Sherlock cried suddenly, shaking his hand and dropping the pick.

'What?'

'She's put an electric current through the deadbolt. A nasty surprise for someone trying to break in,' Sherlock said, picking up his pick set from the floor.

'She doesn't like much company,' the boy nodded _knowingly_. 'I didn't even know she'd gone out.'

'She was abducted over 24 hours ago. Drugs aside, would you have waited much longer to notice your flatmate was missing?' Sherlock replied, incredulous.

'I haven't seen Ella in three months. The only reason I know she's alive is because the kitchen is clean. She's a bit OCD about it. So now she's the only one that bothers.'

Sherlock shot downstairs to the kitchen. It was already a state, plates and cups everywhere. He made his way towards the kitchen sink and the cupboard underneath it. Cello taped to the back of the filter pipe was a small key, in a matching metal to Ella's door but with a rubber handle.

'Thank you for your co-operation. That will be all,' Sherlock called as he shot back up the stairs and into Ella's room, locking the door closed behind him.

Ella's room was exactly what you would expect; if you assumed she had the mentality of a woman thrice her age, no friends and a degree in Art History. Although the room had the space for a double, Ella only had a single, a desk, a wardrobe and a small sink in the corner. One wall was made up entirely of IKEA bookshelves with varying topics such as Art History, Baroque France and Romanticism. But no art hung on her walls. Nothing that would show personality.

The only thing of note was the match stick now on the floor by the door. Sherlock recognised it as a trick Mycroft used to implement when he thought Sherlock had been in his room.

In the top drawer of Ella's desk was a laptop. There was no password to the laptop, no documents, no music. Even Ella's search history had been deleted. All Sherlock could find was a sign-in box for the internet back-up drive. After a few attempts at passwords, it locked itself completely and would only forward the password Ella's mobile, which was most likely sat with her abductors.

Sherlock decided to search 'Match Stick' followed by John's new address. He saved the search as a favourite and closed the laptop, putting everything back the way it was, except the match stick and key which he left on the desk.

'Do we need to hear all of this? She found you after all. Case closed.'

'You knew she'd log on and see the search didn't you?' John asked as everyone ignored Mycroft's snarky comments. 'That's how you told her to come here. Match stick was a warning.'

'Indeed.'

'Brilliant.'

'So what happened next?' Mary prompted.

'Well… I spent the rest of the time thinking,' Sherlock said.

'Thinking? You mean you went home, sat on your sofa and stared at the ceiling.'

'No.'

'Yes,' Watson shot back, 'I've been worried sick that you've been running off into trouble and you were waiting for the girl to find herself!'

'Well she did…' Sherlock argued back.

'I did much better than that,' Ella piped up from the door way. Her hair was damp but clean and she was wearing a pair of Mary's jeans and a clean t-shirt. 'I found out what it is that Specs wants and why he thinks you have it.'


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**.

"Take your time Tamara, we're in no rush. Just tell us what you can remember."

"All of it. I remember all of it!" she snapped, and then looked away. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry... What is it you want to know?"

Her voice was calm again, but her hands were shaking as she lifted the polystyrene cup of tea to her lips. It tasted too sweet, more like tea'd milk with sugar than anything else, but concentrating on that was better than thinking about what had happened. It burnt her tongue, but it was just more pain. She'd gotten used to that by now. She'd had all week to get used to pain.

"Why don't you start with your abduction, where you were, what time it was? We got a call to say you hadn't been seen since 9pm Saturday..." Lestrade prompted, looking at a small notepad in front of him.

"No."

"No?"

"I wasn't abducted Saturday. I wasn't really abducted at all".

"Well then what happened?"

Tamara didn't want to say, she could already feel her cheeks stinging; humiliation, guilt spreading across her face like a rash.

As if reading her mind, Lestrade said "We're not here to judge you Tamara. We just need to know what happened to you."

"You wouldn't understand."

"Please, try us" he pushed. Donavan attempted a sympathetic smile in Tamara's direction but the girl didn't seem to notice or care. She was very conscious that Tamara had been in holding for nearly six hours and had barely said two words about what had happened. She'd been found covered in bruises in a derelict house ten miles away from the bar she'd been seen last. The only reason they'd found her is because of an anonymous call the police had received telling them she would be there. Nothing was right about this case at all; not that there was anything right about abducting women and sexually abusing them. Tamara had been checked over by a doctor straight away; she had an array of cuts and bruises across her legs, breasts and arms. Her stomach was covered in bruises as if she'd been beaten repeatedly, and her wrists had burns from cheap coarse rope. But as if that hadn't been enough, as if torture alone couldn't satisfy her captures lust for violence; she'd been branded like an animal. A circle with a bizarre looking S peeking out of the side, sat between her thighs, burnt red and blistered, but the doctor had surmised that this was in fact the earliest wound Tamara received.

"It started... weeks ago..." Tamara whispered, staring intently at her cup as if it was going to jump up and start dancing. "I was in the library. We don't have the internet at home so I was using one of the computers. There are ads and things down the side, for science journals and magazines you can pay for. I'm always broke so I don't touch them. But... then I saw this one ad for a way to make money. A science... survey... trial-thing. They wanted young people to do some fitness tests and try some protein shakes or something. It was easy money and nothing chemical. I didn't think there'd be any harm to it..."

Tears began streaming down her face. She brushed them away with her sleeve roughly, and still refused to make eye contact with anyone.

"I went a couple of times. I tried some shakes, I did the fitness tests. Some place in Whitechapel. It all seemed legit. But on the night I was taken..." Her voice was shaking, the words caught in her throat. "I got a call from one of the doctors. They'd said something had gone horribly wrong. That they were sending an ambulance to come and get me and they would meet me at the hospital. I panicked, but the guy on the phone was super calm and promised to look after me. An ambulance turned up and I got in without question. I was strapped to what I thought was an oxygen mask, and then I was out like a light. When I woke up... I was in a warehouse. There were other people my age... twenty or so. I recognised one or two of them from the trial, but others I didn't know. We were... hanging from a low beam with rope around our wrists. One girl was screaming and..."

"Keep going," Donovan whispered, "You're doing so well..."

"They cut out her tongue!" Tamara screamed at Donovan, making her jump back in her seat. "The cut out her tongue to stop her screaming! No one screamed after that! Not even when they branded us. And I wanted to. I wanted to scream until my throat hurt as much as my leg did."

"Can you describe the faces of the men that did this?"

Tamara nodded.

"Would you be willing to sit with an artist?" Lestrade asked tentatively.

Again, Tamara nodded.

"The man that called, was he there?"

Tamara shook her head.

There was a gentle knock on the door. Donovan stood to answer it, and then beckoned for Lestrade to join her with a quick shake of her head.

"I promise you. We're going to get the bastard," Lestrade said, before following Donovan out. Sherlock was practically bouncing up and down outside the door. Lestrade shoved him hard, away from the door so Tamara couldn't see his glee.

"Is that the girl that was abducted?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes. And I think she's been traumatised enough so don't even think about asking..."

"It's fine, I don't need to speak to her. Her body language has told me plenty. Abducted. Attacked. Abandoned. Did she say who took her?"

"Some protein shake company hired her for some trials, rang her to tell her something had gone wrong and then took her. And she wasn't abandoned, she was let go..."

"I don't think it was her abductors who abandoned her. Why would you go through all the trouble of taking someone to just let them go? Clearly, whatever purpose they wanted from her, she failed to supply to the demand. Thus, it would make most sense to get rid of her some other way. A more permanent way. But someone or something stopped them. They chose to abandon her instead. Why?"

"They're right cocky bastards who think they can't be touched?" Donovan piped in.

"She knows too much. She's not worth the risk. Not for them anyway. They would have passed her along on good faith that whenever the person who bought her was done with her, they'd kill her for them. It's the only logical explanation."

"So you think she was sold to the buyer, who then double crossed the seller?" Lestrade asked.

"In a manner of speaking."

"What has this got to do with you anyway? I thought you were working on finding that missing girl?" Donovan spat, losing patience rapidly.

"She found herself, she's waiting for you in your office," Sherlock replied with as much venom.

"What?!" Lestrade cried, pushing past Sherlock back towards his office. Sat in his chair was the young girl from the video, with John standing just behind her as they looked at something on Lestrade's laptop.

Ella smiled up at Lestrade as he entered his office.

"Why didn't you tell me? I've still got men out looking for her," Lestrade shouted at Sherlock.

"Did I not? Never mind. Here she is, as you can see. Now, Ella, would you care to tell Lestrade what you told me? About your escape," Sherlock prompted, taking a seat and folding his hands in his lap.

"Sure," Ella replied, getting out of Lestrade's chair so that he could sit down. Donovan shut the office door behind her and everyone stared intently to the young girl in the centre of the room.

For a split second, Ella thought that Specs was going to let her burn. They'd begun pouring petrol all over the place, as one of the mercenaries tied her hands back up behind her. Tighter this time. But as they dropped the lighter into the fluid, they grabbed her and dragged her out of the back door. A couple black cars were waiting for them outside. Four of the men jumped in one, four in the other. Ella was given the luxury of boot.

They drove for an hour or so. Not sure when she'd get a chance to relax again, Ella chose this time to nap. It was dark, and though she wasn't comfy, she was horizontal. It was as good as she could ask for, under the circumstances.

It did give her sleepy eyes when she was woken up. She heard gravel under foot as she was carried into a large house. There was a lot of green and grey. Fields? Fields. Lots of open fields. And caravans.

"Where are we?" she asked the merc. carrying her.

Obviously, he ignored her.

There didn't appear to be anyone else around. On closer inspection, the caravans were piled high and rather derelict. Moss and mould and damp covered most surfaces. It was like a holiday home grave yard. And just as gloomy.

Ella was thrown into the main office building, which was an equally damp wooden shed with weird flowers painted on the walls. Blue sunflowers and daisies with faces. There was no furniture. No desks. No chairs. The four men who'd been in the car with Ella stood surrounding her, watching intently, all of them armed. It was the epitome of over kill. Her personal firing squad. The second car arrived shortly after, and Specs climbed out with a face like thunder.

Without a word, he walked into the reception building, straight up to Ella and slapped her across the face. Her cheek stung and her face went red quickly.

"You're proving to be more trouble than you're worth," he spat.

For twenty minutes, nothing else was said; everyone just stood there, waiting. The cars had gone and eventually a white minibus showed up. The windows were tinted and it had French license plates. Ella was strong-armed into the bus and pinned down to the floor. Rather than standard seats, the mini-bus had two benches either side to sit on. All eight men clambered in tightly. Two in the front with the driver, Specs and the rest with Ella. The mini-bus didn't move.

Someone handed Specs a small blow-torch, like the ones Chef's use to burn puddings. Specs clicked it on and met Ella's gaze. As Ella screams and writhed, the mercenaries flipped her over so that she lay on her front, and pulled down her trousers so that the fleshy part above her hip was on show. The wait was excruciating. Ella could hear the torch but for what felt like an hour, nothing happened. She craned her neck to see but it was no good. The men had her pinned so perfectly, she couldn't turn at all. Someone shoved something in her mouth. It felt like a sock. It tasted like a sock. And with a keen brutality, Specs placed the brand on Ella's hip and Ella screamed like her life depended on it.

She passed out soon after that, exhaustion swallowing her whole.

"Can I see it?" Lestrade asked.

Ella nodded, turned and tentatively mover her jeans so that the brand could be seen. It was the same weird circle with an S attached.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8. 

"You see the link now?" John asked as Ella put her burn away.

Lestrade nodded.

"Two of their captives have escaped in the same week? That can't be a coincidence," Donovan piped in.

"Of course not. The same person who helped Ella escape helped the other victim."

"So why haven't they come forward?" Lestrade asked.

"We're not working on the assumption that they did this to be a hero or a good person," John replied. "It's all a game."

"Explain," Lestrade shot back.

"We made the assumption that whoever was watching the café was watching Ella. A simple conclusion given the facts at the time but now quite impossible," Sherlock answered. "How could they have known I'd be there to give Ella something? They could potentially have watched us both, but then why didn't they take us both? Why did they take her from such a public place, when her home is in a CCTV dead zone?"

"You've lost me," Donovan said, throwing her arms up in the air.

"I was set up," Ella cut in, before Sherlock could tear into Donovan. "I was handed to my abductors, either by name or in person, along with Sherlock's name by someone else. A third party; the same third party we believe freed me."

"Freed you? But why would they go through all the trouble of taking you to free you? None of this makes any sense."

"I assure you it will. I'm afraid you interrupted Ella before the most crucial part of her story," Sherlock said, folding his hands in his lap and looking back over to Ella. "Do continue."

By the time Ella woke up, she was in a dockyard somewhere. Her hands were bound behind her back but she was alone in the van. She spat the sock out of her mouth, which was dry and now full of fluff. Using one of the benches to pull herself up, and tentatively avoiding her new brand, Ella stood in the van with jelly legs.

It was certainly strange that she'd been left alone, especially when she'd been so heavily guarded before, but even stranger was the fact that there were no sounds from outside the van. Awkwardly, she pushed open the back door and tumbled out, landing on her hip painfully. Thankfully, not her newly banded one which still hurt in that achy way that burns do.

That's when she screamed.

Surrounding her was blood and the bodies of the men who'd been her captors. Bullet holes peppered their bodies, and the blood was cold on the ground; congealing and dark maroon in colour. Except for Specs. Ella stopped screaming shortly after realising no one was coming to help her, and she counted the bodies. Not all of her captors, as she'd though. Only six. Two men were missing, one of whom was Specs.

She shuffled through the blood to the nearest body and attempted to search him for a knife, or anything else that would get the rope off of her wrists. She found a small Swiss army knife in his left boot, and prized the small blade open. It took ages to cut through the thick rope. Her wrists chaffed, her arms were cramping, her hip hurt from the awkward leaning and she was soaking in other people's blood. The ropes did eventually give, but Ella just lay there, stretching out her legs and wrists as the last light of the day disappeared. Fluorescent lights came on; towering beacons of bright white, but still no one came.

Cold. Tired. Bloody. Ella patted down the rest of the men for anything useful. A phone maybe? Some cash?

Instead, in one of the pockets she found a small slip of paper with handwriting so swirly it was practically calligraphy.

_'A loaded pistol scares one man. An empty pistol scares plenty.' _

Ella scrunched up the creepy piece of paper into her pocket, and snagged a jacket from one of the bodies. No one else had anything of interest or use on them; no cash, phones, weapons or anything. A few pieces of chewing gum and a comb was the total sum of Ella's stash.

Still, no one had shown up. Ella was surrounded by massive steel containers, right along the dockside, and yet the whole place was deserted. Maybe it was for the best, it's not like she wanted to sit in a police station and explain what had happened; she was meant to be incognito.

Instead, she did the only sensible thing she could do. She left.

She found an easy access path that lead straight out of the dockyard and onto a main road, which she hobbled along until she saw roads that weren't named after 'maritime' or 'ocean view'. Still unsure of which city she was in, she moved closer and closer to higher populated areas, hoping most desperately for an IT café. Once in an IT café, she could access her bank accounts and get the hell out of dodge. But apparently, it was late and IT cafés don't stay open after dark anymore. She couldn't find a computer to use anywhere. Anyone else at this point would have called the police, or walked to the station, or generally drawn attention to themselves to get help. Ella wasn't convinced she should do any of those things. She'd spent too long hiding to let people know where she was now.

As she moved on, she started seeing signs for 'University.' This gave her a glimmer of hope. Southampton Solent's University Library glowed brighter to Ella than anything else she could remember. It was open late, and all it took was twenty minutes for Ella to watch a student enter, punch in their password and copy it for herself. Once logged in, she signed into her cloud account and noticed two new searches.

_'Match Stick'_. Followed by an address in Chelsea. Ella grinned.

"The sneaky…" she didn't finish her sentence. People had started to notice her stained attire and one librarian in particular looked on in scorn. She closed the computer down and left. She hadn't had time to get to her accounts, she'd have to be more creative about getting back into London.

Stealing cars is not as easy as television makes it look. An awful lot of cars have alarms that go off the moment you even slightly rock the car. But with the underwire of her bra, Ella was able to jimmy open a beat up old shit-mobile with relative ease.

Ella looked up at Lestrade, realising she'd just admitted to stealing a car. But Lestrade was just staring at her, his mouth gaping open.

"Six bodies, why have we not heard about it? I mean it's one thing not being out district, but something like that would hit the press pretty quickly…" Donovan managed to dribble out.

"We sent the police looking once Ella told us what happened. The place was clean. Floors and all CCTV footage had been scrubbed," John explained.

"You said this would make sense. This, does not make sense," Lestrade said, leaning back in his chair.

Ella rolled her eyes, before shying away from Lestrade's glare. Sherlock smirked.

"Lestrade, say you and I do the same job; but one of us does it a little better, a little more efficiently," Sherlock began.

"No need to get personal…" Lestrade replied, defensively.

"He's being hypothetical," John insisted.

"No I wasn't."

"Metaphorical then…"

"No…"

"Sherlock… shut up and tell them the story…" John pleaded through gritted teeth.

"What I mean to say is… one of us is good enough to do the job, the other is good enough to consult. Now, say that job is crime. One person is off doing the crime whilst the other sits back and watches the crime being committed. Now, if the second person had helped organise the crime, they'd get a cut; but someone smarter enough to organise themselves makes no profit for the consultant. They then become a competitor. So what does one do to get rid of a competitor?"

"Out manoeuvre them," Ella answered.

"Precisely. But what if you can't? What if, the person you're up against is almost as good at hiding as you are? What if thinking like them isn't a help, it's a hindrance? Then what do you do?"

"Sherlock, can you just point me at the person we need to arrest rather than give us riddles?" Lestrade begged.

"These aren't riddles. I mean, yes they are riddles, but he's trying to tell you who set Ella and that other girl free. In his own… convoluted way," John added.

"Crime Consultant? Are you talking about that psychopath Moriarty?" Donovan asked, crossing her arms as if to protect herself.

"The one that's got a fetish for making you jump of buildings?" Lestrade added.

"The very one. It wouldn't be the first time he's sent me chasing after quarries simply to watch me run. Only this time, it serves a purpose for him. I save the girl and he makes a killing…"

John leaned towards Sherlock so only the two of them could hear.

"Really not the time to be making puns…"

"So… Moriarty was the one watching the café?" Donovan asked.

"Watching me, rather than the café. Happened to spot me sitting at the same table as Ella which led to her rather unfortunate kidnapping. I doubt even Moriarty was aware how capable this young lady was. In taking her, we were led straight towards their first, second and third safe houses. No doubt countless women, drugs and arms have passed through those very spots. And much more than that, we were introduced to V. Hains. It would appear that our spider doesn't want his territory encroached upon."

"So where are the last two kidnappers now?"

"Not sure. Mycroft is following a lead I've given him regards to V. Hains. I very much suspect that he, and 'Specs' as Ella has so quaintly dubbed him, are much the same man. As much as Moriarty likes games, I doubt he'd have much interest in making me look in various directions if his motive is to remove all other oppositions."

"Is that what he meant by 'plenty more'?" Ella asked, holding out the piece of paper she'd taken that was now sealed in a small sandwich bag.

"I believe so. Rats will jump a sinking ship. If V. Hains' clients hear that the untouchable man is quite human, they'll go looking for other places to do business," Sherlock finished.

"And the burn?" Donovan asked. "What's that all about?"

"A cattle brand, I'm afraid nothing more. It's an alchemical symbol for pearls. The girls were his pearls. I believe he was about to sell Ella on rather than await any more destruction to his business she might incur…"

"Well… he wasn't wrong," Ella smirked.

"So… what did he think you'd given Ella?" Lestrade asked. "I mean… this is where this all started; Hains thinking you'd passed over some magical object that could bring about his ruin."

"You're also forgetting that he mentioned to Ella that we'd met. I'd determined his anaemia condition. It's how Moriarty had confirmed who I was and that it had indeed been me that had spoken to Ella shortly before her abduction."

"So, who is he?"

"He doesn't remember," John cut in.

"How can you not remember?"

"Do you remember the names of every single person you've ever met?" Sherlock shot back.

"No, but I'd bloody remember the ones with… hemo…anaemia or whatever it was called!"

"Haemolytic Anaemia. And of course I should remember every time you sneeze as well…" Sherlock shouted back.

"Boys! Boys!" Ella cut in, holding her hands up. "Give it a rest! Jesus… We'll find him."

"We? You're a kid!" Donovan shot back.

"A kid who's proven more useful than you!" Ella parried.

Donovan restrained the snarky comment she was going to make when she met Lestrade's eye.

"As a department, we're not comfortable having you anywhere near this investigation," he proceeded cautiously. "It's time you left it with us. We'll find Hains. And Moriarty. You just… get home safe and we'll call you when we hear something…"

"You cannot be serious?" Ella fumed.

"Come Ella, let's leave the police to do what they're best at…" Sherlock snarled.

"Which is basically nothing…" John added under his breathe.

"You can't actually be leaving them to deal with this on their own? I won't be cut out like that…" Ella argued as the three of them left Scotland Yard.

"I have no intention of the kind…" Sherlock smirked again. Ella stopped dead and looked at him as he hailed a taxi. She shared a look with John, smiled, and they both chased after Sherlock.


End file.
